


Unit Morale

by eerian_sadow



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-07
Updated: 2008-11-07
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:29:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9467387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/pseuds/eerian_sadow
Summary: Blaster is a bright, happy being. When he suddenly isn't, Optimus takes personal interest.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i made Blaster exceptionally young on purpose. i just couldn't seem to make it work any other way in my head. _and i like him that way_. ^^

Their new communications specialist was young, and it pained Optimus to have such tangible proof of the fact that sparklings were being born and raised during the terrors of the war. He had known that there were sparklings clinically, but he had never had real proof before.

Blaster was young enough to have never experienced—or even heard of—any of the major battles of the war, only the minor skirmishes they were reduced to now that there were no real targets left.

But Blaster—and the small mechs that were symbiotically linked to him—gave Optimus hope. He was bright and friendly, constantly bringing other mechs up from their war depression with his mere presence. There was also always music now; the young communications specialist was more addicted to song than Jazz.

Optimus Prime was fairly certain that Blaster had single handedly saved the flagging morale of his unit.

It was the young mech’s silence that drew his concerns today. Ultra Magnus had made a comment about missing the near-constant stream of sound issuing from Blaster, and the Autobot leader became instantly worried. He wasn’t aware of any time that the communications specialist had ever turned off his music willingly; he had finally had to give Blaster a private room because of roommate complaints that he even recharged with the music playing.

“Are you certain it was Blaster?” Optimus asked his old friend.

“Very,” Ultra Magnus replied. “I didn’t even know he was at his station until he asked Ironhide a question. For someone who plays music so much, he can be very quiet when he wants to be.”

“That’s not like him at all,” Prime replied. “I’ll have someone look into it.”

Ultra Magnus nodded and didn’t press the issue. It wasn’t out of character for Optimus to take a more than passing interest in the personal morale of one of his troops. “Are you ready for the reports from the Iacon sector then?”

“Yes.” Prime settled into the business of running the army, but part of his processor continued to turn over the issue of Blaster’s uncharacteristic silence.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Blaster was sitting at his station in command center when Optimus finally had a moment to look for him. It was late in the cycle and the large room was deserted except for the communications specialist; the recharge period was monitored from Red Alert’s security room. The room was disturbingly silent.

Optimus could feel the depression emanating from the young mech.

“Blaster?”

Blaster turned to look at him as if he’d just been fired upon. “Prime, sir! I didn’t…I wasn’t doing anything!”

“Yes, that seems to be the problem,” Optimus said gently.

“I just couldn’t recharge and I thought that if I came up here…What?”

“Tell me what’s bothering, you Blaster. Something must be wrong if you’re sitting up here alone after your shift.” The Autobot leader stepped closer to the younger mech, trying to be comforting with just his presence.

“It’s nothing.” Blaster turned away from him.

“If it was nothing, you would not be hiding from everyone in the command center.” Prime laid a gentle hand on Blaster’s shoulder. “Is your burden so great that you can’t share it with your symbiotes?”

“They’re my sparklings,” the younger mech replied. “So, yeah it is.”

Optimus could feel the tension in the other mech’s frame. He didn’t like it—he wanted Blaster to be loud and friendly and open again. “Then share your burden with me. I’m told that I am a very good listener.”

Blaster looked like he desperately wanted to talk, but he shook his head. “It’s not the kind of thing you tell your commanding officer.”

“Then please, promise me that you will find someone else to talk to?” The older mech pinned the younger with a stern gaze. “It bothers me to see you like this.”

The communications specialist looked away from the Autobot leader. “I’ll try.”

Optimus nodded and left the command center. He had done all he could; Blaster would talk to someone else or come to him in his own time.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Prime, sir?”

Optimus looked up at the sound of Blaster’s voice coming from his office doorway. The young mech looked—if it was possible—more downcast than he had when they had talked before. “How can I help you, Blaster?”

“You said I could talk to you?” Blaster looked like he thought Optimus was going to send him away.

“I did. Come in, and close the door behind you.”

Blaster did as he was told. Then he sat down in the chair in front of Optimus’ desk, looking nervous. “Is it true that you only took me in because you just didn’t want the Decepticons taking me?”

The question startled the Prime. He hadn’t known why Blaster was feeling so depressed, but he hadn’t expected anything like that. “No! Who told you that?”

“No one. Everyone just heard it from everyone else; you know how the gossip chain woks.” The communications specialist looked down at his hands. “If that’s not it, why am I here?”

“You are here because you chose to be,” Optimus reminded him. “Is idle gossip why you’ve been so upset for the last few cycles?”

“I just don’t feel like I do anything. Like I’m just here because Steeljaw is a good spy and Ramhorn is a good fighter.” Blaster raised his hands to cover his face.

Optimus remembered similar feelings, long vorns ago. “I felt like that once. It took a long time before I understood that I was important for something more than being a carrying case for the Matrix of Leadership.”

“But you’re so strong! And smart and compassionate and—“ The young mech looked up at him in shock

“And once, I was young. Just like you.” Optimus came around his desk and pulled Blaster into a comforting hug. “Never think that you have no worth, Blaster. Everyone has value, even if they cannot immediately see it.”

“What’s so valuable about me?” Blaster wrapped his arms around his leader, holding on like a sparkling needing the comfort of his creator. “There are a dozen other mechs in the army who could do what I do.”

“You give the others hope,” Optimus replied. “You give me hope.”

“Hope?” Blaster did pull away then, but only enough to be able to look up at Prime with confusion.

“Yes, hope. You give us hope that there is something to be happy about, even during this war. You give us hope that we can be something more than mindless soldiers, fighting only because we’ve been told we must stop Megatron. You give us hope that the war will end and we can have real lives again.” Optimus retracted his mask and gave the young mech a smile. “You give us hope that life will continue, despite the war’s best efforts to deactivate us all.”

Blaster turned his face away, hiding it in the older mech’s chest plates. “I don’t think I can handle that kind of responsibility.”

“I do not want you to feel that being yourself is a responsibility.” Optimus hugged him a bit more tightly. “Your very presence is enough to give me—give us—hope. I do miss your music, though.”

He could feel Blaster’s smile against his chest plates. “You must be the only one. I think everyone else complains.”

“Less than you think. The lack of music is what made us think something was wrong in the first place.” Blaster’s depression wasn’t gone—that would likely take more encouraging words from several other mechs—but it was lifted somewhat and Optimus could be content with that. “Will you play some for me?”

Blaster didn’t say anything in response, but Prime smiled when an old symphony from his early days as leader of the Autobots began playing over the young mech’s speakers.


End file.
